Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. But it was generally unused, and so was a suitable spot for these secret meetings, when Melusine plotted and delivered her instructions to Jack Kimble. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed.
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